The other two were interesting in their own way. One had the slender build of a shang’goma, was old, and wore a mountain lion pelt around his waist. His hair was thickly braided with little bones and other trinkets. U’nark wondered what significance they held and couldn’t help but feel nervous. There was so much he could learn from them about being yog’mur. The Pure Bloods would never admit it, but Tribe U’nor had lost what it meant to be yog’mur a long time ago.
The last among the party was by far the most peculiar of the lot. She was tiny, even when compared to the children among his tribe. Her hair was golden and her skin a pinkish colour. She had a narrow face similar to the strange yog’mur but more petite. The most disconcerting of all her abnormalities were her eyes. Instead of black, they were white with a circle of green around a tiny black dot.
“This is my father, F’lar. My brother, G’nar. N’rak one of my nine warleaders, and Elizabeth our healer,” said Asteroth as he indicating each in turn. “Everyone, this is U’nark. He is as close to a chieftain as the U’norgarr have right now.”
G’nar smiled at his brother. “I’m sure there is an interesting story to go with that statement. I am glad your people saw reason and decided to join us, U’nark. Battle is glorious, and hopefully, the fallen have been judged favourably by In’kanak, but it is never easy slaying those too blind to see reason.”
“I am sure many of them now fight alongside Ve’ndrious against those of the Lower Nine.” All except Asteroth regarded him with open astonishment. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Are you a shang’goma?” asked G’nar confused.
“No,” he answered in an equally confused tone.
“Then how—”
“All U’norgarr possess advanced intellect,” interjected Asteroth. “They are like an entire tribe of you, brother,”
F’lar reached out and touched him as if to confirm he was real. “Nekt’s tits, is this really possible?”
From the group’s reaction, U’nark took that the old man did not swear often.
“This is . . . This is . . .” started F’lar before turning to G’nar with teary eyes. “Oh, my son, I did not know. I swear I did not know.”
The unusual yog’mur seemed struck by his father’s demeanour as he took the wrinkled hands in his own. “It is fine, Father. I know.”
“No, no, I—”
N’rak cleared his throat, and F’lar fell silent for a moment.
“I need to rest. I am afraid the years are starting to weigh heavily on me.”
“Of course, Father. U’nark is there somewhere near he could rest?” asked Asteroth.
“Yes, one of the families detained in the arena has a villa a few minutes’ walk from here. It now stands unoccupied. He will guide your father there,” said U’nark as he called over one of his men.
“I, go, him,” said Elizabeth in broken Yog’mur.
Asteroth nodded and motioned to N’rak to go with her as the tiny pink yog’mur ran to catch up to the old man.
“Thank you. My brother and I often forget that he is reaching the end of his years,” said G’nar when the group disappeared down a street.
“Yes, we do. I do, however, have somewhat of an urgent matter to discuss,” said Asteroth, his temperament similar to when he had given his ultimatum.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” asked his brother, concerned.
“No. In the three weeks that I have waited for you here, I’ve learned that culturally Tribe U’nor is hardly yog’mur at all.”
U’nark flinched. Although he knew it to be true, it didn’t make it any easier to hear an outsider say it.
G’nar raised an eyebrow. “Odd, true. But I don’t see the urgency. We can just teach them our ways.”
“That’s where we have a problem. You see, the U’norgarr have been split into two factions: the Old Bloods and the Pure Bloods. The former wants to unite with their brothers and sisters and regain what they have lost.”
“But the Pure Bloods don’t, I assume?” interjected G’nar.
“Worse, they view themselves to be superior to all the other tribes. They believe themselves gods among animals.”
“The nine tribes follow you without question, but they won’t stand for that,” warned G’nar.
“Now you see the urgency. They need to be dealt with.”
U’nark didn’t quite understand Asteroth’s meaning, but his brother seemed to.
“That will be hard, brother.”
“Not as hard as you think. The Pure Bloods ruled this city—”
“City?” interjected G’nar confused.
“It is what they call this village of stone. As I was saying, the Pure Bloods ruled this city until three weeks ago. The Old Bloods revolted while I was distracting a large portion of the Pure Bloods during one of their ceremonies. I have since asked U’nark to move all the Pure Bloods to a large structure called the arena.”
“So they are all gathered in a single location?”
Asteroth nodded.
G’nar thought a moment. “The shang’gomagarr? They number at around three thousand now; it should be enough.”
“We’ll wait until Father is rested. They are under U’nark’s command.”
G’nar turned to him. “What of the Old Bloods, will they accept this?”
“Accept what?”
Asteroth turned stoic. “They will, or we will crush them all.”
U’nark felt a surge of dread. “Accept what?”
ASTEROTH STOOD IN the deceased chieftain’s loggia, staring down at the three thousand two hundred and forty-six Pure Bloods below. Men, women, and children. “It has to be done,” he told himself silently before the door opened.
“Father says they are ready. It is not too late. We can come up with an alternative solution.”
“No! All yog’murgarr must be united or all the blood spilt so far will have been for nothing.”
“I do not envy your burden, brother,” said G’nar as he placed his hand on Asteroth’s shoulder.
“What of U’nark?”
“He still thinks we are being too extreme, but he will do his duty and keep the Old Bloods from interfering. I think he knows all choice was taken from him the moment he opened the gates for us.”
“Good. They are a strange tribe, and this will show them the extent of my resolve and wrath.”
G’nar knew that his brother’s wrath had been well conveyed when he first arrived in their city, but sometimes, leaders had to tell themselves what they needed to hear in order to make the hard decisions that came with leadership. “Yes, it will.”
He fully opened the screen so all those below could see him. “My brothers and sisters, I am sorry it has come to this, but I cannot risk one of you betraying us later on.”
The crowd immediately understood their situation, but before they could scatter, he signalled his father. Hundreds of lightning bolts started raining down upon the panicked assemblage of Pure Bloods. For a few minutes, the sands below became a nightmarish scene of screaming women and children, burning corpses, and horrified faces. As the last tentacle of heaven tore at a deformed corpse of a little girl, G’nar found himself fighting to keep down his lunch.
Asteroth watched the scene unflinchingly. “It had to be done. We can’t risk being betrayed later on.”
G’nar only nodded.
Asteroth jumped out the window and glided down to the field of charred corpses. Slowly, he started piling the dead together. Some of the guards hurried forward to help him but were quickly told to stay back by his ever-perceptive brother. Softly, he lay down the last nearly unrecognizable remains of a child. “It had to be done. I could not risk being betrayed later on,” he said as a tear ran down his cheek.
THE FUNERAL PYRE burned brightly as the U’norgarr each came to say their goodbyes and prayers before adding their kindling to the fire. A few hours later, there was nothing but ash, and Asteroth left to address his people from the wall.
As he a
pproached, he could see and smell Tribe U’nor was terrified. The air stank of fear and death. It was as if he were He’nensu himself striding towards them, and if not for the masses who surrounded them, they would have probably fled. He landed on the U’norgarr platform used to address the public. It was an enchanted thing that allowed all bellow to hear one’s voice, a podium they called it.
“My U’norgarr brothers and sisters, I am sure you all know what happened to the Pure Bloods, and I understand your fear. But do not think of me as some merciless tyrant here to enslave you. Look to your left and right. You will see no oppressors, but family. You are all my family, and rest assured that as long as I draw breath, I will protect you! But I can never forgive, nor trust those who have turned their backs on their brethren. We have given our fallen brothers and sisters a warrior’s funeral, may In’kanak, Passer of Judgement, have pity on them.
Today is not only a day to grieve, but also a day to rejoice, for on this day, the yog’murgarr is no longer divided, scattered, and lost. We have become one. No longer will there be tribes, for we are all equal. We will take care of and support each other as families do, and in time, we will build a realm that other races will envy and fear. Rejoice and let all of Cortast hear! For today, we are whole!”
Chapter Six
Contracts
SEBASTIAN SAT AT his desk and pored over the various reports on recent beastmen movements. Each of them was at least a week old. Thanks to the King’s newfound habit of executing people who simply spoke their mind, he very rarely found time for anything but quelling the ever-growing disconcertion. He now wished he had made time for it, though, as the parchments painted a very bleak picture.
Just as he had feared, the creature who called himself Asteroth was, indeed, uniting the tribes. The question, however, was what was he planning to do once he succeeded? Were they going to have to repel a beastmen invasion? The possibility was there, but he thought it unlikely. The tribes have never shown any interest in expanding their territory. They hadn’t even raided a border settlement in years.
Why Lindred had felt the need to hire the Black Griffins in the first place was a question only the Book Beast could answer. He wondered, not for the first time, if Genoss’s Favoured had some form of access to the mysteries of the god of knowledge and secrets. Though any devoted enough to be Favoured would never tell, on account of their god’s latter domain.
He let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his grey hair. He was only thirty years old, but those who carry the burden of leadership never age well. A knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie. “Enter.”
James stuck his head into the study. “Do you have a moment, My Prince?”
“Gods, boy, you’re my squire. Just get in here!” answered Sebastian in a harsher tone than he’d intended. He still could not believe his brother had wanted to execute the poor lad after he told them what had happened to the Black Griffins.
He never did like having a squire underfoot and has lost count of how many squires he pawned off to others. But he also couldn’t just sit back and let his brother kill an innocent man for doing nothing other than what they told him. Why the gods allowed Lindred to be the first born is probably the greatest mystery in the known world.
“Sorry, my lord. I’m still getting used to all this,” said the squire with downcast eyes.
“Never mind that. You have something to tell me?” he said as he leaned his chair back. He knew it was a bad habit, but he still liked it.
“Yes. I happened upon some traders who went through Willow Way, and well . . .”
“Yes?”
“They said it is not there anymore,” said James hesitantly.
“What?”
“They said the entire town has been razed to the ground, nothing but ash and corpses left.”
Sebastian sat forward. “How many corpses?”
“Well, as you know, my lord, only a few souls lived there, but the traders said they buried about forty bodies.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “If I’m not mistaken, that would roughly account for all the townsfolk.”
James hesitated before whispering. “My lord, do you think it was Asteroth?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. Beastmen would have taken the corpses to feast on. By Supai’s six thousand cocks, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about. Who is this new player on the board and for what possible reason would he, she, or it raze Willow Way?”
“JESSICA, ARE YOU listening?”
“What? Sorry, it is very distracting,” she said pointing to the walls in the distance glowing a bright emerald in the fading light.
“I suppose it is quite a sight. It is a mineral found only here, called hekishoku-reikon,” said Killmar.
“Quite a mouthful.”
“It is Zhēnli, the ewiens’ native tongue. Though they rarely speak it anymore, preferring rather to speak Franca. Understandable when you consider that they are a mercantile nation that trades with many different realms. In fact, this relates to what I was saying before, had you bothered to listen,” he said sounding eerily like her old tutors.
She brushed some strands of hair back over her shoulder. “I said I was sorry.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Well, as I was saying, although the Eranian Empire is not nearly as vast as the Coalition of Lords or even the Kingdom of Zinox, they are probably the most dangerous nation in the known world.”
“That I do know. Despite the distance from Evershade, I was instilled with a healthy fear of the ewiens. Is it true that a single ewien soldier wielding his magical blade is worth twenty fighting men?” asked Jessica, her eyes lusting after the secrets he knew.
“Well . . . yes and no. The reibai, what you know as their magical blades, are not inanimate objects. They are inter-dimensional parasitic creatures that have a symbiotic relationship with the ewiens.”
“Um . . .” She hoped she didn’t need to explain that he had lost her.
He pinched the bridge of his impossibly well-shaped nose. “Wait. This will take far too long to explain. Let’s just say that an ewien’s sword is alive, and that he has to get to know it, become its friend so to speak, in order to do the feats you’ve heard of. But this takes time, and many of them fail to do so in their lifetime.”
“So . . . only some ewiens are as dangerous as I’ve heard, while others are just normal swordsmen?” she surmised.
“Exactly,” he said, relieved.
“Fascinating. Would you take the time and explain the workings of this . . . symbonic relationship to me? Not right now! But when you want,” she said, trying to look as adorable as possible.
It seemed to work as he smiled and said, “Symbiotic, and yes, perhaps I will. But their rumoured battle prowess is only half of the reason why they are feared. You see, although they have not always been so, they are an extremely diplomatic and charismatic people.”
“Which is why they are the most successful merchants in the known world,” she supplied.
“Yes, and it is also why they are friends to most of the races dominating the planet.”
“Planet?” she asked confused.
“Never mind that, the point being that declaring war on the Eranian Empire means making more enemies than any nation would be able to handle,” said Killmar as he steered them out of the brush and onto the main road.
Jessica was surprised by this but kept quite. Instead, she marvelled at the bright green glow of the walls. The hekisho-reikon, as Killmar called it, seemed to be translucent and incredibly glass-like.
Killmar kept a steady pace towards the emerald walls. “Listen, Jessica, don’t call me by my name in public.”
She noticed he drew his black robe’s hood over his blue locks. “Why?—I mean all right.”
He smirked before pulling the hood further down, completely hiding his features in shadow. “You are learning.”
The city had three successive portcullises, each half the height of the walls. Their width was only two
feet wider than a heavy wagon, making it good for funnelling an invading army should they manage to break them down and survive the several archers posted on the gate tower.
Each guard was armed with the ewienian trademark, the katana. They seemed somehow more majestic now that Jessica knew the swords were actual living beings. Back in Mistveil, she had heard stories of how an ewien and his katana shared a soul, and that the wielder would die should the sword be broken. She had always thought it nothing but the typical embellishment found in the tales of soldiers, but now she wasn’t so sure.
The guards wore their city’s tabard, a red eagle with a white serpent in its talons upon a field of emerald. One of the eight at the gate noticed the darkly dressed couple. “You there, would you mind accompanying me for a moment.”
Killmar turned and headed towards the guard. “Jessica, stay quiet. I’ll handle this.”
The guard was tall for one of his people, standing at about five feet, half a foot shorter than Killmar. “Evening, travellers, mind telling me what business has brought you to Larin?”
“We are just passing through.”
The ewien admired Jessica’s beauty a moment before examining her suspicions companion. “What is your relation to this woman?”
Killmar answered without hesitation. “She is my wife.”
The man narrowed his eyes as he clearly noticed Jessica’s sudden intake of breath, despite it having been very faint. “Your wife, you say? Kind sir, I am going to have to ask you to remove your hood.”
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
The guard reached for the hood. “I am afraid I have to insist.”
Killmar caught his hand a few inches from his hood before tilting his head backward; just enough so their eyes could meet. “Don’t touch me, insect!”
Jessica instantly recognised his tone and felt a chill run down her spine. She didn’t judge the guard for quaking like a frightened child.
He released his grip, and the guard fell to his knees, his trousers becoming more moist by the second. “If you don’t mind, we have business to attend to.”
Birth of a Mortal God Page 8
